


Forbidden Intrigue

by SinclaireWolf



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Case Fic, Coercion, Consensual Underage Sex, Developing Relationship, F/M, Incest, London, Love, Lust, Mystery, Relationship(s), Scotland Yard, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinclaireWolf/pseuds/SinclaireWolf
Summary: Enola Holmes is far more than just a pretty face. Intelligence, tenacity and daring all make her quite intimidating for the average man.Luckily, Sherlock Holmes is anything but average. Will they drive each other apart or find a way to become even closer than before?Warning: This does contain incest. Read at your own risk.
Relationships: Enola Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Enola Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 68
Kudos: 200





	1. Risque Endeavors

His mind wanted to reject the thought that there might be someone on par with his level of insight and reasoning. Not because he was supremely arrogant in matters regarding his intelligence. Well, not entirely because of that. It was more due to the fact that he hadn't met such a person in all his twenty six years. In fact, he had rather resigned himself to a life of solitude. Which made any contrary notion harder to bear. 

At only sixteen Enola Holmes had braved the wilds of London and solved a case faster than he had. A feat no one else had ever accomplished. Granted his mind had been distracted by other matters but he couldn't allow an excuse. It was damnably frustrating but more than anything it was... intriguing. Sherlock Holmes absolutely lived for intrigue.

Upon Mycroft's insistence he had baited her to reveal herself with a cipher in the paper, knowing she would see it. When she'd teased him with her presence rather than show herself he'd decided that he would bide his time and allow her to come to him. 

Of course, fate is a fickle thing and he found himself called upon by Inspector Lestrade before the week was out. Only five days had passed since he had tried to draw her out. 

"Mr. Holmes!" the inspector greeted, standing from where he had been seated in the day room. His black hair was oilier than normal, no doubt due to his nervous habit of running his hands through it. Something had him riled, or more likely, someone. 

"Inspector," Sherlock returned with a nod of his head, walking into the room and striding to the desk at the opposite end to grab his pocket watch and a few more odds and ends. "I trust this isn't merely a social call?" he asked the policeman from over his shoulder.

"Ah no, I'm afraid not Mr. Holmes," Lestrade began, his voice hesitant and shaky. "It's about your sister, Enola." 

Sherlock's fingers stilled momentarily at that news and then he turned, glancing down at the time on his watch and then up at Lestrade's face. "What of my sister, Inspector?" 

"Well unfortunately we found Miss Holmes in a house of ill repute sir. She was... Well she was dressed most provocatively and she had caused somewhat of a ruckus." A grin threatened to tug at the corner of Sherlock's lips but he kept it subdued. 

"And Inspector?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, "What is it you wish me to do?" 

Lestrade shifted in place from one foot to the other, practically wringing his hands red. "Well seeing as how she incapacitated five men, one of which was Lord Ainsley, we were forced to take her into custody." _Interesting..._

"I see," Sherlock replied quietly, his face subdued. 

"I did call your brother, however, Mycroft made it clear that she was your ward and your responsibility now. He said he would have no part in it," Lestrade continued. 

Sherlock chuckled at that. "Of course he did." Striding past the nervous man he grabbed a dark blue cloak from a rack and swung it over his shoulders. "Let's be off then Inspector. I would hate to leave your men at her mercy for too long."

\-----

The station was in full swing as it always was and Sherlock walked in as brazenly as ever, leading the way. He was about to turn toward the holding cells when he heard pealing laughter from the main area of the station. Enola's laughter. 

He spotted a group of officers crowded around a single desk. Slowing as he approached, he picked up on the conversation, his curiosity piqued. 

"What happened then?" one of the men questioned and they all as one seemed to lean forward, holding their breaths as they awaited a response.

A low female voice suddenly began to speak in a hushed conspiratorial tone, "Let's just say that Mycroft now has a certain penchant for-" 

"Enola," Sherlock interrupted lightly, noticing the way her eyes danced as she cast her gaze in his direction. It was obvious she had known he was there. 

The surrounding men all jumped as if they had been bitten, turning to act busy, especially when Inspector Lestrade came strolling in. 

Enola Holmes sat in one of the officer's chairs, comfortable as ever with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. However, much more noticeable was her attire. Although someone had had the good grace to lend her a coat it hung open revealing the extra low cut of her bodice and how her corset was pressing her small breasts up in full display. 

Running his gaze down her crossed legs showed that one side of the skirts had been pinned up, revealing a long unobstructed view of her leg, nearly to her hip. Provocative indeed. 

"Sherlock," Enola began, greeting him warmly. Too warmly considering they had no real history of sibling affection for each other. She was up to something. "I'm so glad you've finally arrived." Her hands were folded in her lap and he could tell she had something hidden in her skirts. 

Inspector Lestrade had finally caught up and he took in the scene of her with a gasping sputter. "Why is she not in a holding cell?!" he demanded of the officers around him, spittle flying. None of them could meet his gaze, looking rather abashed. 

"Now, now Inspector," Enola interjected sweetly, "All that shouting will do nothing for your health. The Yard's finest were doing nothing but ensuring my health and safety. I could feel a cold coming on from those damp cells." She stood and Sherlock could see the rigid movement of her free hand that was holding her skirt. "Have some tea," the young woman continued, pressing the cup into Lestrade's hands. He took it, obviously unsure what else to do in her charming, energetic presence.

While the inspector was clearly taken aback, Sherlock took the opportunity to remove the coat she wore and cover her in his longer thicker cloak. It had the added benefit of inner pockets which he had no doubt she would take full advantage of. 

"Well done Inspector, I shall take over from here," Sherlock spoke, his tone leaving no room for argument. Placing his hand against Enola's lower back, he began to usher her from the room. 

At this Inspector Lestrade finally found his voice, "Wait! Mr. Holmes there's still some paperwork we need you to fill out and-" Sherlock cut off his words with a wave of his hand as he continued to walk. 

"Lestrade, we both know I will be back sooner rather than later. I need to get Enola home to restore her decency and keep her from a cold," he replied briskly, walking from the station without a backward glance. Once they were outside, Enola tugged the blue cloak tight around her body, remaining quiet as a boy ran to fetch them a carriage. 

The air was cool with a gentle misting rain, leaving the cobblestone streets damp and dull. He was grateful when the carriage was pulled up rather quickly and he stepped forward to open the door for her, offering her his hand to assist her entry. Of course she promptly ignored the gesture and he bit back on his grin. She was so obstinate on the most peculiar things. Giving the driver his address, Sherlock climbed into the carriage to sit across from his capricious sister. 

"I don't suppose you're going to fill me in on the reasoning behind your attire? Or perhaps what it is you've taken from Scotland Yard?" he questioned idly, leaning back against the seat. 

Enola met his question with a wry grin, reaching into the coat she wore to pull out a folder filled with papers. Flicking it open she looked down at his contents before replying, "Am I to believe that the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know something?" she asked haughtily before adding, "Besides, who says I need a reason to wear this? Perhaps, I just enjoy this style."

He let out a slight huff before answering wearily, "I'm highly intelligent Enola, not omniscient." He ignored her second statement since it was in no way true. Even though she had put on an air of confidence he could see the way it bothered her in the precinct by the way she had been constantly shifting. Or how she had tugged his cloak surreptitiously when they were outside so it covered her better. 

The papers in her hands appeared to be case files and she was currently looking over an autopsy report but he couldn't see much from this angle. "Was there at least a reason for your altercation with Lord Ainsley and his men?" he asked idly, studying her body language. She stiffened ever so slightly but didn't bother to look up from what she's reading. 

"Mhm," she finally replied with false disinterest before continuing, "I was merely reteaching him the meaning of the word no." Sherlock felt a flicker of anger intermixed with slight pride. It was good that she could take care of herself but now Lord Ainsley would be kept on his radar. A beating was too kind. 

Finding that his patience was running thin he reached forward with deft fingers to pull the file from her grasp. He ignored her loud exhale of indignation, quickly skimming over the contents. Ms. Doris Ackerman, thirty three year old widow turned prostitute who was found dead in her own home with multiple stab wounds.

The woman was also fond of bright colored wallpaper although her file didn't mention that part. Sherlock had been called to investigate her death only two days prior. "This is the case I'm working," he pointed out, shutting the file and turning his attention back to Enola. 

To her credit she did look mildly ashamed but she met his gaze boldly all the same. "It's related to _my_ case," she replied in a clipped tone, lifting her chin a notch. Sherlock arched a brow, feeling his curiosity piqued. Sounded like a lead for his own case. Before he could press her to expound, the carriage came to a stop and he was quick to open the carriage door and step out. They were in front of his home.

Without prompting Enola exited as well. He knew she was only here for her case but he was pleased that this had given a proper excuse to have her around. 

He led her inside, walking past his harried maidservant towards his study. It was quite a mess but everything had its place in his mind. Sherlock loosened his tie as he walked, tossing the offending fabric onto a chaise as well as his suit coat. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt, he let out a relieved exhale, feeling immediately more relaxed in the organized clutter of his own space. 

Enola entered the study directly after him, shutting the door on his overenthusiastic maid, Mrs. Lanscomb. He raised a bemused eyebrow that stuck on his face when Enola tossed off the cloak he had lent her stop his coat and tie. 

Now he had a proper view of her improper attire. The dress was a lovely deep blue velvet with a black embroidered corset that enhanced her figure, coaxing it into more womanly curves. The way it pinned at the side revealed black stockings that hugged her thighs and ran down to her feet which were encased in high heeled ankle boots. 

Sherlock sat on the edge of his desk, grabbing the decanter of scotch from the opposite corner before pouring himself a full measure into one of the nearby glasses. Enola was busy looking around his study, inspecting various jars and labeled so he watched her without reserve, tilting the glass to sip at his scotch. 

She came to a pause in front of a jar of insects labeled Dermestidae and another beside it labeled similarly. "What use would you have of flesh eating beetles?" she asked, quirking her head. He couldn't be surprised that she knew of them considering her obsession with reading but it was still refreshing to field questions of intellect than disgust.

"They can be quite handy in getting rid of fleshy bits for better observation of bone fragments. Also, I've been wanting to race those two sub species to see which is most efficient," he revealed, enjoying the way her eyes lit up with interest. 

"I would most certainly be keen to see that," she spoke eagerly and he couldn't help but chuckle. As if realizing her lack of decorum she flushed a bit and straightened, looking at anything but him. 

"I shall be sure to let you know when I set the experiment in motion," he replied finally, taking another slow sip of his scotch. It surprised him how much he enjoyed studying her. She wasn't quite so obvious in some things as others, but the revealing traits she did possess were somewhat endearing. 

"Would you care to discuss your case?" he asked bluntly, eager for more details. He always hungered for information on a case. The feeling of all the pieces coming together to finish a puzzle was intoxicating. It was why he loved his work. 

She shot him a sly, bemused expression before beginning to wind her way closer. "No small talk then brother? Or perhaps offers of hospitality?" she asked in what sounded like mock offense. 

Sherlock's lips curved in amusement before he held out his glass. "Here dear sister, have a drink, take a seat," he offered, gesturing to the single chair in front of his desk that was free of clutter and papers. In a move that surprised him, which was a surprising feat in and of itself, she took the glass and downed it in one before falling into the chair and propping her heels on his desk. 

Her position gave him an even better view of her long stocking clad legs and he wondered how she was so comfortable with him. Sure, they were brother and sister, but he was still a man. Not to mention, they didn't really have the easy relationship of siblings since he had been gone for most of her life. He assumed it had to be naivety on her part. After all, she had spent the most of her life sequestered in the family manor. Whatever it was, he hadn't the mind to complain since the view was appealing. 

Enola folded her hands over her stomach and leaned back, elongating the length of her neck and upper chest which he fought to keep from looking over. He knew she would catch the movement if he kept ogling her.

She began to speak then without further prompting, eyeing him intently as if to gauge his reactions. "My landlord's niece was found in her own apartment, dead by asphyxiation," she began, tapping her fingers together. "This was two weeks ago, and my landlord came to me because the Yard has dropped the case."

"So, what makes you think this case has any relation to my own?" he questioned curiously, having an idea himself but wanting an insight to her deductions. 

She smiled broadly as if she expected the question and replied, "The victim had been killed somewhere else before being brought to her own home and placed in her bed." The connection was a rather obvious one and he cursed the Yard's utter lack of communication and insight. 

Doris Ackerman had been treated much the same. Stabbed in her kitchen but moved to be placed into her bed as if sleeping soundly. The killer had even gone so far as to dress her in fresh respectable clothes.

"I see," he replied slowly, his eyes taking in a faraway look as his mind worked. Asphyxiation tended to be dealt in passion or by someone with close emotional ties to a victim. Stabbing was similar but a little less personal. Still, the similarities and timing made it hard to believe in mere coincidence. 

"I need to know every detail of this other case, nothing is too small. It's would also be beneficial if I were to visit the scene of the crime," Sherlock spoke matter of factly, his eyes on her. Enola seemed pleased by his willingness to work together and she nodded her head. 

"We can go by the property tomorrow," she replied, rising from her chair and stepping closer. Sherlock's insides clenched instinctively as she came within a foot of him to pick up the decanter of scotch, refilling the glass he'd given her. Passing it to him with a wicked smile her next words would have been utterly delicious in a different context. "Let's get started then. It's going to be a long night."

She explained the circumstances of the woman's death, a Miss Adelaide Turner, before going into depth about any close relationships, aquaintances, and possible motives she'd drawn up. In turn Sherlock revealed what insights he'd gleaned from his own case. It was nearly midnight when they had finished, Enola leaning back into a chair while Sherlock sat, deep in thought. 

"I should be heading home," she spoke wearily, rubbing a hand across her face. Her legs were dangling over the arm of the chair she currently sat sideways in, giving him a wonderful flash of inner thigh. 

"Nonsense," Sherlock replied, pulled from his musings, "You will sleep in the spare bedroom." His tone was rather final, leaving no room for argument although Enola looked as though she might try. Instead she closed her mouth and gave a grateful nod before moving to stand and stretch. A wide yawn stretched her lips which she half-heartedly tried to hide behind a hand but he only chuckled. 

"C'mon Enola," he spoke, rising from his own seat and walking to the door of his study, "Just this way." The house was quiet, all the wait staff already gone for the day and he led her up the quiet dark staircase to reveal a hallway lined with doors. 

Opening the first one he pointed in and said, "Here's the bathroom should you need it." He continued down the hallway, past his own bedroom door before stopping at the one at the far end. "And this is where you can stay," he said, his voice quieter as he opened the door. It was a simple room with a roomy double bed as well as a wash basin, dresser and nightstands. 

"Rest and tomorrow you can show me the scene of the crime," he spoke easily, turning to head to his own bedroom with his own yawn. He was unbuttoning his shirt before he'd even made it to his door and he couldn't help but wonder if she watched him walk away. 

Turning into his room he shut the door behind him and quickly stripped completely down until he was nude before slipping into his bed with a grateful groan.

He found himself looking forward to tomorrow and he knew it was not merely in anticipation for uncovering more details about the case. Sherlock was many things but he knew himself and he didn't shy from his own mind. He was looking forward to spending more time with her and seeing how her brain worked. 

Thinking of her as he lay there made him wonder if she was sleeping in just her shift or even more preferable, the nude. His cock twitched at the thought but he pushed down the urge to touch himself. There were valid reasons why incest was frowned upon so it would not do to further his body's response to her by rewarding thoughts of her with an orgasm. 

Still, he knew he would continue to think of the way she had looked in that salacious dress. Quite tempting to say the least. Innocent but whorish seemed to be a rather alluring combination. The thought brought a smile to his lips which persisted until he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy!

Enola woke in little more than stockings and her shift to the sound of knocking at the door. Sunlight was beating at at her eyelids and she turned to bury her face into the pillow beneath her with an exasperated groan. The knocking sounded again, louder this time, and frustration wormed its way into her hazy mind. "Five more minutes Mrs. Hayworth!" she shouted blearily, still reluctant to open her eyes. 

"Enola," a male voice called from the other side of the door. That was definitely _not_ Mrs. Hayworth. Awareness flooded her mind as the voice continued, a hint of amusement lacing the words, "I'll give you three minutes before I come in there to drag you from the bed myself. I'd like to begin the day before it's over, if you please." _Sherlock._

His footsteps faded as he walked away and she let out a heavy sigh as she finally opened her eyes, blinking rapidly against the bright stabbing sunlight. She was supposed to show Sherlock the house of the late Ms. Adelaide Turner. Thinking of that actually brought her a sliver of excitement and was able to draw her from the comforting embrace of the bed. The thought of finally watching him in action was too tantalizing a notion. 

The dress and bodice she'd worn yesterday was laid over a chair and she set to work pulling on the cumbersome layers, missing the simple dresses she used to wear. The corset wasn't something she would be able to lace herself so she carried it in hand with her boots as she opened the bedroom door. Perhaps she could get Sherlock's maidservant to lend her a hand and assist with her hair as well. Looking down at the dress she cringed at the low cut and the way it rode high up her leg on her left side. She really needed other clothes. If Sherlock wasn't so gigantic she would have given no thought to raiding his closet. As it was, she would never fit into his clothes. 

Walking down the empty hallway she stepped lightly down the stairs, casting her eyes about the home. It was strangely spacious but, unlike the study, the rest of the home was neat and orderly. She preferred the study. The clinking of china sounded from a doorway at the end of the hall and she followed it, stepping into the kitchen area where Sherlock currently stood, divvying up a breakfast of eggs and toast onto two plates. It wasn't a sight she expected and it gave her pause as she stood in the doorway and just watched him. 

"Take a seat," he spoke, turning to set the plates on a small table that was undoubtedly meant for the servants. He cast a glance in her direction, his gaze making a quick perusal of her from top to bottom and she knew she must look a mess. Pushing back the threatening embarrassment she reminded herself that this was her brother. So what if her hair was an unbound disaster, and her dress was rather improper? Taking the offered seat, she dropped the boots and the corset in an empty chair. 

"Where are your servants?" she asked curiously, almost shocked to see that he had prepared a rather adequate meal and that he didn't mind seating himself at the servant's table. It was a good look for him. 

"It's Sunday," he replied simply, opening a newspaper on the table to read over as he ate. Ah, of course they weren't here. No doubt they were all in their best and at church currently. It was foolish of her to not have thought of that and she resolved to sharpen her mind in his presence. She didn't want him to think of her as simple minded. 

They ate in relative silence and when she finished first she turned to pull on her boots. "We'll need to stop by my home on the way," she spoke as she tightened her laces, fingers quickly tying them firmly. 

The sound of the newspaper crinkling as it was folded preceded the scrape of his chair as he stood. Without a word, he took both of their plates and set them into the deep sink before walking from the room, his leather shoes pronounced on the hardwood floors. 

Enola was quick to follow, grabbing the corset as she ran her fingers through her unkempt hair. She was still trying to feel out his personality but she was in no way put out by his more quiet demeanor. After all, she didn't mind doing enough talking for the both of them. 

He was shrugging on a coat but going without the usual top hat that was the latest fashion here in London. She was pleased because it made her feel less out of place without her own bonnet or hat. They were either uncomfortable or too easily blown away and as such she only wore them when a disguise called for it. 

After he was ready, he turned and grabbed the coat he had lent her the previous day, holding it out in silent offering. Was it given out of shame or courtesy, she wondered. Either way, she would rather wear it than have an untold number of lecherous eyes upon her so she took it with a small incline of her head. 

When he opened the door, the normally busy streets were less crowded. Enola adored Sundays. While everyone took it as a day of rest or worship, she took it as a day of peace. 

There was a couple of street urchins no older than eight or so across the street that were eyeing the few passerbys as if searching for marks and she was surprised to see Sherlock gesture to them. One of them kicked off the curb he'd been balancing on and jogged over the cobblestone street. "G'day Mista Sherlock," the young boy greeted, grinning to reveal he was missing a front tooth. "Fancy a hack?" 

"Aye Gregory, and be quick bout it," Sherlock responded, his voice lilted with a bit of a cockney accent, pulling forth a six pence coin from his pocket and tossing it to the grinning lad. Needing no further encouragement the boy took off down the street towards the nearby stable house that typically had carriages and hackney cabs waiting for patrons. 

"I didn't realize that your accent had grown so thick during your stay here in London," Enola teased. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before looking down at her with a slight smirk. 

"It puts the lads at ease, and leaves them less likely to pick my pockets," he replied, his deep voice now returned to its normal poise. It made sense. The wind picked up and she hugged the cloak tighter, pleased that it at least wasn't raining. She felt it rained much more in London than it had back at the family manor. 

Thinking of it made her miss it and she looked at the filthy cobblestone streets as she asked, "Why is it you never went home? Surely you had to have missed something about it." 

From the corner of her eye she watched as he shifted his weight yet again, this time perhaps in discomfort. "Not all of us hold such happy memories from there," he finally responded in a hushed tone. Before she could think of a response, a single horse drawn cab pulled up and she climbed into the seat first, Sherlock sliding in beside her. 

_What had he meant?_ Were it not for the driver sitting just in front of them she may attempted to continue the conversation. Although, now that she took the time to think, it was obviously a delicate topic. She wouldn't understand her brother in a day and it would be foolish to try. 

When Sherlock rattled off her address to the driver she gave him a sidelong accusatory glance. When he caught her stare his lips spread into a broad smile. "Did you think I wouldn't be able to figure out where you live?" his tone triumphant. 

"For accomplishing a feat more prized by stalkers than brothers, you seem awfully proud of yourself," she remarked wryly, facing back forward. 

"To say accomplish would imply that it was difficult," he responded, making no attempt to address her stalker comment. There could be worse stalkers to have she supposed. 

"Does Mycroft know?" she asked, her voice becoming slightly more curt. She still hadn't forgiven Mycroft for his trespasses and wasn't sure if she would ever give him a chance to redeem himself. 

"No, I don't believe he does," Sherlock responded, but it felt as if he wanted to say more. Staying quiet, she waited for him to continue. "Mycroft won't apologize if that's what you want. He still believes that he was acting in your best interests and he... lacks the capacity to understand it any differently."

His comment brought a small smile to her lips despite her wanting to remain cold and indifferent concerning the eldest Holmes brother. Lacks the capacity was quite an eloquent way to point out Mycroft's mental inferiority when compared to his siblings. Not that he was stupid. But it was easy to see that he lacked the attention to detail and ingenuity that came naturally to herself and Sherlock. 

"As long as he doesn't continue on with his fool notion to think of me as his ward," she spoke, wanting there to be no question about her feelings. Sherlock let out a light chuckle and she gave him a questioning glance, "What's so funny Sherlock?"

He schooled his expression before answering, "You needn't worry about Mycroft any longer. He has turned over the responsibility of you to me." At that Enola let out a bark of laughter unable to contain her amusement at the words. Passed along as if she were a willful mare and not their little sister. Even so, she would much rather be reined in by Sherlock than Mycroft so the revelation was somewhat of a relief.

"Good," she finally responded, pressing back into her seat. "Do let me know if you begin entertaining thoughts of boarding houses or matchmaking so that I may help you to... understand differently," she said with a smirk. He answered her smile with one of his own.

The ride didn't take long but she was feeling a stronger sense of connection to the man beside her. Stepping from the cab, she walked to her door as he paid the driver, feeling a strange nervousness enter her body as she heard his footsteps approach behind her. 

Letting him inside her home almost felt like exposing a part of herself. _Sherlock's your brother._ It was a thought that always ran through her mind anytime she felt as though she may be uncomfortable in his presence. Shaking away her insecurity, Enola opened the door and beckoned him in. 

"Make yourself at home. I'll just be a moment," she spoke, quickly moving up her stairs to her bedroom. To say it was a mess would be a massive understatement. Clothes were draped over every surface. Mrs. Hayworth only worked weekdays and she did _not_ do laundry. It was part of what made her services affordable. That, and her attitude.

Grabbing a lovely cream dress with golden embroidery she switched her clothes and paired the dress with a cream waist cincher that helped her figure but didn't leave her uncomfortable. Keeping the boots she was wearing, she pinned her hair partially up, letting it fall over one shoulder. The overall effect left her with a grecian look that was not quite in style but it was far preferable in her eyes. 

Straightening her shoulders, Enola grabbed the leather bag she normally took for investigations and looped it over her shoulder. Excitement made her giddy at the prospect of working a case with the infamous Sherlock Holmes and she practically flew out of her bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. 

\--------------

Stepping into the home of Enola Holmes was like stepping into another world. The day room was in no way ready to receive guests. Instead it was filled with easels that showcased vibrant half finished paintings with tins of paint littering every flat surface. Sherlock stepped closer to a side table which had an open sketchbook lying atop. 

A charcoal sketch of a woman in various poses covered the page. Each pose was slightly rough but in every one the faceless woman was nude, her full breasts slightly upturned and a thatch of curls between her legs. He flipped the page to find another similar one and then the page after held a distinct difference. Instead of a woman, this one held a faceless nude man in various poses. They were quite good but even he was surprised to see such sketches in her possession. Still, it was clear to see that they were practices of the human form and nothing done by a debauched mind. 

As he flipped through the pages he heard Enola bounding down the stairs and he made no move to hide what he was perusing. Just as she turned the corner and came to a halt he lifted his gaze to glance across at her, one hand held at the small of his back while the other traced the sketches. Her face was absolutely priceless. A beautiful crimson flush bloomed from her chest, rising up her throat to grace her cheeks as her soft brown eyes darted from her sketchbook to his face. 

"These are quite good," he praised, glancing down to the pictures again, "Although I do have to wonder where a lady would find a muse to inspire such works." If it was possible the red in her cheeks deepened and her pupils dilated as her body seemed to flood with adrenaline. _Fight or flight. Which would she choose?_

Enola took a step forward, tension making her body stiff as she came to stand beside him. Slowly she reached for the book's cover and pulled it closed before her eyes shifted up to meet his, her gaze unwavering. "These were purely done in study for academic purposes," she spoke, and he could see her throat work as she swallowed hard. Did she think he would judge her? They were a far cry from the flower paintings he had seen in the family manor. Although he found this a much better subject for her talent.

"Undoubtedly," he replied reaching up to brush back a strand of hair that was obstructing his view of her face, ignoring when she just barely flinched. She exhaled slowly as he tucked it behind her ear, seeming to calm at the look on his face. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, dropping his hand and pushing it into his pocket. 

She seemed to be preoccupied with chewing the inside of her cheek but finally she nodded and he fervently wanted to know what was happening in her mind. She was another mystery in his life that he wanted to unravel. He took a moment to take in her new look and found it suited her immensely. She was so small in comparison to him and it brought forward an urge to dominate and protect her all in one. _Interesting._

"The tenement building isn't a far walk from here," Enola said, turning to the door. He closed the door behind them and she turned left when they cleared the steps from her door. His long legs quickly placed him beside her and he had to slow his gait considerably to keep his pace even with hers. She wasn't filling the silence like she normally would and he wondered if she was still embarrassed.

"Did you bring the case file?" he asked, pulling his hands from his pockets as she immediately begin to open the leather satchel at her side. 

"This is a compilation of the coroner's notes as well as my own notes," she spoke, pulling out a bundle of papers in a worn folder and passing it over to him. He thumbed through the contents casually, appreciating the analytical notes that lined the edges of the coroner's report in Enola's neat handwriting. 

It appeared that their suspect had large hands from the bruising described on her throat so it was most likely a male. The young woman's trachea had been crushed so he had either been unaware of his own strength or quite impassioned. Sherlock only wished he could have seen the body for himself. 

"We're here," Enola spoke, breaking him from his musings as she led him into the building. Several doors lined the hall with stairs leading up to several more. The paint on the walls was flaking but overall the building seemed to be in good condition. Enola continued, stopping at the door at the end of the hall which opened easily. "Bollocks," she cursed beneath her breath and he knew why when he stepped in. The entire apartment had been cleaned out and now only held the bare essentials, no doubt in preparation for a new tenant. "I told them to hold off," she muttered beneath her breath.

Stepping past her and into the center of the room, Sherlock eyed the surroundings. Despite the woman being young, unwed, and living alone, the quarters were clean and spacious. "Were there any signs of forced entry?" he asked, picturing a scene in his mind. 

"No," Enola replied, staying still and allowing him to browse the room as he wished. "However, there was an open suitcase beside the dresser although it didn't hold any clothes. When I asked her aunt, she knew of no reason why the woman would pack. She said she seemed quite happy with her life and her recent engagement." There was a hint of sadness in her voice which was understandable. This woman had barely begun to live her life and it had been ripped away. 

"Did any of the other tenants hear or see anything?" he asked, walking to the bed. It was a simple metal frame twin bed and he knelt down to the floor where scuff marks marred the floor. Someone had moved the bed and often. Shifting the bed along the scuff marks, he tapped at the floor, looking for anything that might be loose. The trim against the wall caught his attention as he saw where the paint had been chipped away as if someone had pried a portion of the trim from the wall.

"The only thing that they spoke of was that she was a quiet and polite girl. Extremely kind. The only thing that was noticed was her open door in the morning which is how she was found," Enola replied from across the room. 

He could feel her draw closer behind him, silently watching as he pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and flipped it open. Pressing it in between the slightly loose board and the wall, he popped it free before peering in the slight hole that lay behind. Reaching in, his fingers met papers and he pulled them free from the hiding place. It was a bundle of letters wrapped tightly with twine. He reached in to make sure he'd gotten everything and ran over a metal chain. Next he pulled out a long silver chain that held a pear shaped sapphire pendant. He laid both finds on the bed and straightened, placing the knife back in his pocket. 

Enola reached over to picked up the necklace, her fingers running gently over the jewel. It was no slight trinket, it would have cost quite a bit. Sherlock picked the bundle of letters and pulled free the twine. Shuffling through the myriad of envelopes, they were all addressed to a Miss Adelaide Turner but had no return sender. Opening one, it was clear after a few lines that it was a love letter. 

"It seems that Miss Turner had an interested party aside from her fiance," Enola commented from his side. Indeed. After all, had these been from her fiance they would not have been so desperately hidden. Now the only question that remained was who this mystery man was. There were five letters in total and all of them were signed, 'Your Truest Love'. Each one spoke of his desire for her and from the racy descriptions within there was no doubt that the relationship had been physical and not some one-sided admiration. One even spoke of how he missed the way her body squeezed around him when they made love.

"Have you spoken with the fiance yet?" Sherlock questioned, handing the letters over as he gave the room another sweep. There didn't seem to be anything other of note in the room and he walked to door, inspecting the door frame before he was content. She hadn't answered him yet and he looked over to see her in the same spot still skimming over the letters contents. "Enola?" he asked and she jumped, her gaze almost guilty as she met his eyes. He arched an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth turned up. He rather enjoyed these small moments of vulnerability she was displaying and he couldn't help but wonder what the letters made her feel.

"I tried speaking with him," she finally answered, "But he gave me almost nothing, although he did seem quite torn over her death. His group of friends were quite protective as well. From everyone I've spoken with, she was well liked." She put the letters into her satchel as well as the necklace before moving to meet him at the door. "Shall we find him and see if he knew of any infidelity?" she asked. 

Sherlock nodded, walking out of the building as she followed. "We should also see where he was the night of Mrs. Doris Ackerman's murder," he continued, pausing when they stepped into the street. "Do you know his address?" 

Enola looked up at the sky and nodded, "Yes, but he should be at his father's business instead at this time of day. It's a lumber mill by the docks that he assists in managing." 

"Then let's head to the docks," he replied, striding forward towards a carriage that was unloading its patrons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter should have a bit more action. I promise to get the next one out faster than this one. Thank you all for reading!


	3. The Five Senses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know everyone probably wants to murder me for the time that's passed between posts. I am truly sorry for leaving y'all waiting. I've been out to sea on a ship for work for a few weeks and we only just recently pulled back in. Needless to say there was very little internet.   
> I hope that you all find this next chapter worth the wait and now that I'm home I will work to continue to crank out a new chapter soon. Also, if you follow any of my other stories, I will be working on getting new chapters out on those this week as well.  
> Thank you all and please enjoy. ❤️

The stench of the docks had no equal. Salty brine overlaid with rotting fish was enough to press back even the staunchest of gentleman so it was no wonder that the entire area was home to a seedier variety of people. Sherlock watched Enola as she gazed out the window, her eager eyes drinking in every sight. 

They exited the carriage at the large warehouse that served as a lumber mill, processing wood that was carried down from upriver on giant barges. The high squealing whine of a saw cut through the bustle of the dock workers and rabble, and a fine layer of sawdust clung to every surface like tan powdered snow. 

Allowing Enola to take the lead since she had dealt with the man in question previously, Sherlock took in every detail, noting the sweating crew of workers and the quality of wood they worked. It was obvious that this establishment was a well managed one merely from the attention to the finer details such as the clean cuts which spoke of craftsman pride. 

Several of the men paused momentarily in their work to eye the pair of them, lingering much longer on Enola's slight feminine frame before giving him a cursory once over. They were often visited by business men but women were undoubtedly a rarity in a place such as this. 

They climbed wooden stairs that led to a railed walkway so that the work could be carefully monitored from above and then a small office space. Within, a young man with dark features was immersed in pouring over documents at a desk and didn't seem to notice them until they stepped into his open door. 

He was, in no uncertain terms, a handsome young man with strong features and a clean cut appearance. When he looked up to see Enola, a slight surprise clouded his features followed quickly by a twinge of loss. As they came to a stop he was quick to gather up his papers, tidying his desk before he stood and strode around, sitting back against the surface of his hefty desk. 

"Miss Holmes," he greeted, his manner guarded, "And...?" His voice trailed off, awaiting the formality of introductions. 

"Mr. Archer, this is my brother, Sherlock Holmes," Enola spoke, stepping to the side to allow Sherlock to step forward. He did so, taking up the entire doorway and allowing a friendly smile to slip into place. 

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes," Mr. Archer greeted in clear surprise, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, "Your reputation precedes you." Sherlock took his hand, giving the man the comfort of a firm, unwavering handshake. He could practically feel Enola's displeasure from beside him and knew that he was garnering a much warmer introduction than she had with the man. 

"Thank you Mr. Archer, it is a pleasure to meet you," Sherlock replied with a slight incline of his head. 

"Please, call me Will," the man replied before motioning to the two chairs in front of his desk. "Take a seat if you please, I gather you're here to discuss my late fiance," he assumed, walking back around to his own seat. 

Brother and sister followed suit, settling into the firm wood chairs and Sherlock leaned back giving the man an answering nod. "Indeed. I am truly sorry for your loss, she seemed a lovely woman by all accounts," Sherlock spoke. He could almost feel Enola's gaze, weighing his every move and word but he stayed focused on Will. He needed to monitor his every reaction. 

Will gave a somber nod, seeming to take a moment to think on her, "She truly was. A pure heart." Although his manner was indeed one of loss, Sherlock would have guessed that the man had lost a prized possession or perhaps a fond pet. There was no hint of overwhelming heartache.

"As I'm sure you're aware Will, her case hasn't provided any confident leads as of yet so Enola has asked for me to consult in the investigation. I'm sure you have answered plenty of questions already so please forgive me if anything seems repetitive. My only wish is to find answers, same as you," spoke Sherlock heavily, pulling out a small pencil and notebook that he flipped open. 

Will nodded in response, eyeing the notebook before clearing his throat, "Of course Mr. Holmes. Our goal is indeed the same in that regard. Ask what you wish."

"Thank you, I will try to get through these as fast as possible so we do not take up any more of your time than necessary," Sherlock began, folding one leg over the other before continuing, "Let's see here... Did Miss Turner have anyone who may have wished her harm?" 

Will was quick to shake his head in a negatory gesture. "There was no one. To know her was to love her," he replied easily. 

"And what of you?" Sherlock pressed, "Do you have any people who would wish you harm?" That question took the other man back for a moment. 

"Me?" Will began swallowing hard. "Well I suppose I never thought of that. There could be some business rivals sure, but I wouldn't think any of them would go to such lengths." Sherlock only nodded, his attention focused on the notebook he was writing in. 

"Did you and Miss Turner have any issues by chance? In or out of the bedroom?' Sherlock asked and he could see Enola's face began to turn red out of the corner of his eye. Will, to his credit, did look somewhat uncomfortable and cleared his throat. 

"No, Adelaide was as chaste as they come. She wanted to wait for our wedding," he replied stoically and Sherlock couldn't help but find it odd that the man hadn't seemed offended on his late fiance's behalf. Tapping his pencil against his notebook Sherlock swiped a hand over his mouth as he leaned forward. 

"Will," he began, in a reluctant a conciliatory tone, "I hate to have to impart this news to you, but there's evidence that Miss Turner was having an affair. It is unclear with whom but-" Sherlock's words trailed off as Will abruptly pushed away from the desk and stood, his face reddening with anger.

"That is quite enough Mr. Holmes," he spoke between clenched teeth. Sherlock nodded, keeping a mask of regret on his features as he stood as well, albeit much slower. 

"Of course, of course," Sherlock spoke, gently assisting Enola from her seat by a hold on her elbow and ushering her towards the door. "If you think of any pertinent information, please don't hesitate to reach out."

Will didn't deign to answer or move from behind his desk, anger still holding his body rigid as his hands came down to rest on the wooden surface. Enola looked as though she were going to say something but Sherlock shook his head almost imperceptibly as they left the office. Wordlessly, they exited the warehouse and moved down and across the street where he pulled her into a relatively empty alley.

"Sherlock," she breathed out in an exasperated tone, "Do you mind filling me in on what we're watching for?" A few strands of hair had fallen from the confines of her braid, giving her a light, whimsical appearance when paired with her cream dress. The intelligence in her lovely brown eyes was sharp and calculating, but she was still so full of innocence when it came to matters as these.

Casting a sidelong glance to the warehouse, Sherlock looked back to her a hint of a smile on his lips. "What did you notice about Mr. Archer's responses to the questions?" A slight frown curved her lips into a pout as she began to think. 

"He wasn't acting like a man with a broken heart," she began, eyes lighting up when Sherlock nodded, "And yet, he was beyond angry with Adelaide when you brought up her infidelity." At that Sherlock shook his head. 

"I wouldn't say he was angry with her. From his lack of mourning paired with the fondness, he thought of his future wife as more of a possession or prize. So no, he wasn't necessarily angry with _her_ for her actions," Sherlock amended, looking for the right words. 

"He was angry with the man who dared to touch what he believed to be his," Enola finished and at that Sherlock nodded again, enjoying the delight his approval brought to her features. 

"Precisely. And by the magnitude of the anger there, I would wager that Mr. Archer has an idea of who this faceless lover might be," Sherlock concluded, tilting his head to the warehouse. 

"You think he's going to go confront this person?" Enola asked, eyes widening. Sherlock only nodded, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small pipe. "Well don't smoke now," Enola chided and he couldn't help but smile at her nervous eagerness as he pulled out a small metal tin of tobacco to fill the small cup. "What if he comes out?"

"Considering that Mr. Archer is a reasonably intelligent man with much to lose, he's going to wait until after work. There was a chance that his anger would have made him reckless, but considering that he hasn't stormed out already, I would say we've got quite the wait," Sherlock reported to Enola matter of factly before striking a match and gently bringing it to the mouth of the pipe. 

Enola didn't look completely convinced but Sherlock only looked for a relatively clean patch of brick wall and leaned back against the surface, pulling on the pipe as his mind raced with the numerous possible outcomes. He also took the time to watch Enola, her lips pursed as she looked across to the warehouse with unmasked skepticism. He could almost see the cogs working until she finally relaxed.

It was only nearing midday but it would be foolish to leave and come back. Despite how often he was right, there was always a chance for Archer to break the mold Sherlock had constructed and leave at any moment. However, Sherlock was quite used to having to wait around on a case and he now had the added benefit of being able to watch Enola as a form of distraction. She was currently mumbling under her breath which she seemed to do often. It was something he too was guilty of. It made him wonder if the act made him look half mad as it did her.

Blowing the air from her lungs in a sudden burst, she turned to look at him, backing until her own shoulders settled against the opposite brick wall and crossing her arms. He remained still and silent, puffing on his pipe as they both took the moment to study each other. There was no doubt in his mind that he would outlast her when it came to patience. 

True to form, less than ten minutes passed before Enola heaved a sigh, looking down each side of the alley before opening her mouth, "Is this all you do when you have to wait out a case? Smoke a pipe and look contemplative?" The corner of his mouth twitched but he kept his features neutral, raising a brow slightly before pulling the pipe from his lips. Her foot was tapping in a constant beat on the cobblestone and she was entirely fixated on him now, her brown eyes searching his face.

"Sometimes I have rolled cigarettes," he countered wryly, shifting from one foot to the other. Enola merely rolled her eyes before turning to look back at the lumber warehouse across the street, eyeing the men toiling away. Watching her, he couldn't help but wonder if she found them appealing. And that turned to thoughts on whether she found _him_ appealing. It seemed his thoughts continued to circle back to her in this manner. It was like an itch that he'd been refusing to scratch and he knew being stuck here for endless hours that he would get no relief. Not to mention it could prove entertaining in its own way. 

"Would you rather spend your time sweating with those men in the warehouse?" Sherlock asked in a low even voice, no hint of teasing in the words. She seemed to start at the idea and then a crimson blush flooded her cheeks as she quickly turned away from them, determined to look anywhere but. 

"Don't be absurd Sherlock," she chastised, though her own voice wavered with the unease she felt. 

"Did I offend you dear sister?" he teased, bring the pipe back to his mouth and feeling a subtle triumph when her gaze flickered to his lips. "I would have thought you at ease with such things after seeing your sketches," he goaded, unable to hold back the curl of a smile. Enola tried her best not to look completely flustered but her brown eyes lit up with a fierce spark as she met his amused stare. 

"I already told you those were purely done in study of the human form," she ground out, her blush deepening. "Honestly, _your_ interest in them suggests a hidden depravity," she accused in a biting tone. His grin only widened. Speaking with her was its own form of pleasure and he pulled on his pipe allowing her anger to cool as silence stretched. 

Seeking to wind her up yet again he finally spoke, "And what, pray tell, would give you the assumption that my depravities are hidden? I also happen to enjoy _studying_ the human form." Her eyes widened at that and he felt a heady sense of accomplishment roll over his body. Enola's mouth opened to retort but when nothing came out she firmly closed her lips into a hard line. She was far too easy to rile. 

Letting out a miffed scoff, Enola's eyes dropped to look at the ground between them. It was clear she was thinking rather diligently as her lower lip was captured between her teeth. He didn't press her further and the next hour was spent in a loud silence. It took a great deal of will for him not to ask what she was thinking at this point and she was too lost in her own mind to offer her thoughts freely.

In time, her body relaxed as she continued to think, suggesting that she had become less heated and more contemplative. He finished smoking and cleaned out his pipe before stowing it back into his coat pocket and moving slightly away from the wall to stretch his idle muscles. 

"In the context of study, purely academic mind you," Enola's soft voice began, breaking the quiet between them, "Is there much to be derived from a... physical study of the human form?" Her eyes were noticably averted from him and she was worrying the inside of her cheek to the point that he wondered if she could chew right through it. But the question, so innocently posed and yet so perfectly filled with budding sexual awareness made his stomach tighten in a way it hadn't for quite some time. 

His mouth flooded with saliva, the anticipation of answering her and leading her from that open segue into a greater awareness, made his own mind hunger to open hers. "I would say that would depend on which of the five senses were used in your study. The more you experience, the more there is to be... derived. In a purely academic sense of course," he answered a touch of sarcasm lacing his words. 

He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard and he couldn't help but continue, "Seeing the human form is only one facet of a larger whole. There's the sounds they can make when properly... stimulated," he began, his voice a low whisper. "Then there's the smell given off to entice or titillate" Her entire body had gone rigid and her eyes had closed so he took a silent step forward, closing some of the distance between them. 

Stretching out a hand he tried to analyze whether this would push her a step too far, but found he was far too interested in her response to back out now. This had become somewhat of a wonderful experiment. With only his forefinger, he grazed over her collarbone to press back a few strands of wayward hair over her shoulder. Her rich brown eyes shot open and she flinched at the contact before watching the motion. "And then there's the aspect of touch which can be one of the more enjoyable methods of study," he said, drawing his hand back even as he leaned in closer. "And lastly, my personal favorite, there's the sense of taste which yields some of the most enthusiastic responses." 

At this point he noted how poor Enola's breathing had become more ragged and she took a hesitate step back but was stopped from moving further by the brick wall. Still, he didn't push her further, instead mirroring the move by stepping back against the opposite wall. Pressing his weight into the hard surface he crossed his legs at the ankles and then crossed his arms, watching as she attempted to school her features. It was clear that his answer had been much more than she'd expected and she was at a loss for a response. 

Her hands gripped the satchel that she still had slung over her shoulder and she continued to keep her gaze from his. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and he eagerly followed the movement with his eyes as it left a sheen against the pink plump skin. 

"I um-" Enola began, her fingers tightening their hold on her bag. "I see. Well then," she began, clearing her throat and finally casting her gaze in his direction. "Thank you for... I mean, I'll keep all that in mind," she answered, shifting her weight uncomfortably. "Are you hungry?" she questioned in a quick breathless tone. "I'm famished. I'm going to just go and get us something from one of the street vendors since we're stuck here," she rambled, gesturing to the street. "I'll be right back," she assured not waiting for a response before she practically darted out into the street. 

It wasn't until she was truly gone that Sherlock allowed his lips to spread into a wide grin and a low laugh left him as he replayed her reaction. Shaking his head, he allowed himself to imagine the way her neck and upper chest had held such a wonderful flush of color, only in his mind it was accompanied with her heavy breathing and the conjured feel of her skin which he imagined was rather soft beneath his hands. 

When she finally returned, a mutton meat pie for each of them in tow, he had schooled his mind and his features and then allowed her to avoid the topic as she tried to pick his brain with inane questions. What was his favorite food? Where had he traveled outside of London? They were undoubtedly a ploy to help pass time and to ensure the conversation stayed in what she seemed safe territory but he didn't mind. It did help to pass the time and allowed him to continue his study of her.

Finally, just as the sun began to set, the sawmills began to shut down allowing the noise of the people to overtake the street. Whores and street vendors alike were calling out prices. As well as catcalls and jeers mixed in with the loud revelry being had at a nearby tavern. They both watched together as the workers began to filter out and it wasn't until they were all out that Archer finally stepped outside, one man pulling closed the heavy doors so that he could fasten on the giant iron lock he held. 

He spoke a few words to the last man before turning to walk the opposite direction down the crowded street. Motioning to Enola, Sherlock fell in with the crowd, easily able to keep sight of the other man with his height advantage. It was clear that Mr. Archer was walking with a purpose as he slowly moved away from the docks.

He paused to look around, but Sherlock only kept his head down, knowing that ducking out of sight would draw far more attention. Looking back up he watched as Archer turned down a side street and crossed the street to follow trusting that Enola was close behind. Allowing the distance to stretch since the street was far less crowded he turned to look at her as he spoke, "You should keep behind me." Of course she immediately looked ready to argue but went silent when she took a moment to think. With her outfit and stature she could be easily picked out a mile away. 

"Alright," she replied with a quick nod and he turned back to look down the street, blindly reaching back to grasp her arm and pull her after him. 

\----------------------

Enola's heart was racing with excitement as she allowed Sherlock to lead the way, his grip on her reassuring and confusing all at once. She was finding it hard not to focus on every little detail about him after their earlier conversation. His build, the low timbre of his voice, the sure touch of his hand on her arm and lastly the heady smell of cologne that she caught everytime the wind blew. 

The sun was sinking down lower, casting shadows in every corner but she could hardly see past the immense bulk of Sherlock's torso as she continued to blindly follow. The street did lead to a better slightly more reputable area of town and the comforting glow of gas lanterns made her steps a bit more sure. 

When Sherlock abruptly came to a halt she collided with his back, gripping onto his coat to keep from falling back. Wanting to see, she peered around him catching sight of Archer standing outside a nice tenement building. It appeared that he was contemplating his decision to come here as he eyed the front steps and when his hand drifted to the inside of his coat, they both went rigid. 

There was only one reason for someone to move like that. "Gun," she breathed out against Sherlock's side and she felt as he nodded. His hands suddenly reached back to grip hers, removing them from his coat as he turned. 

"Stay here," he ordered, then stepped forward just as Archer seemed to come to a decision and run into the building. Excitement, fear, and indignation all surfaced in a cold wave straight to her gut, leaving her reeling in his wake. _Who was he, ordering her to stay like some dog?_ Shaking her head at the thought, she quickly stepped forward, running after them both. 

Turning into the building's entrance, she slipped past the front door that had yet to swing closed, racing towards Sherlock who she saw standing in a nearby open doorway. Slowing when he held out his hand, she stopped just to the side of him as he took a slow measured step inside, his voice echoing out into the hall as he began to speak. 

"Mr. Archer, this is Detective Sherlock Holmes. We met earlier today at your warehouse. I'm going to have to ask you to put the gun down." Hearing his words made Enola stiffen and she couldn't help but look around the open doorway to see Sherlock taking another step towards Archer who was frozen in the center of the room, a revolver held tight at his side in a trembling hand. 

"I-I didn't do this," Archer finally spoke, his voice little more than a whisper. Her eyes tried to see where he was staring, but she couldn't see that far without stepping inside. Looking back, she watched as Sherlock took another slow step. 

"I know you didn't, trust me, I know," Sherlock continued in a low soothing tone. The gun fell to the floor with a loud clatter making both the Holmes siblings flinch but Enola breathed a little lighter when Sherlock scooped up the pistol, releasing the hammer and stowing it back into a pocket. Finally she stepped into the apartment, looking around the door to see a double bed with a man's body laid out as if he were sleeping. Enola knew he wasn't. 

"Do you know who this is?" Sherlock asked her, turning to cast a glance at her. Enola stepped closer and when she saw his face, her breath caught. 

Before she could answer, Will Archer responded, his voice dull and lifeless, "That's Peter." Enola nodded in confirmation, turning to face Sherlock again. 

"Peter Archer," she confirmed, turning a sad gaze towards Will who still hadn't moved. "Will's elder brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I hope you're all enjoying the slow tension. Comments and kudos are of course always welcome. You guys make it all worth it. :)


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